Amy Wins This Round
by tasty-kate
Summary: Amy is sexually frustrated. What of it? One Shot. Mature themes.


Partially based on true-life events… Though not really. No sequels, just this one shot. : )

Obligatory no ownership disclaimer of any characters or concepts from Doctor Who.

Sniff.

There it was again. That smell… he knows that smell.

The Doctor stood up from where he was working on TARDIS and followed his nose. He swore  
he got the strongest scent when Amy walked pa—wait, that was Amy? That was interesting; he's never smelled anything like that from Amy before. Time to question.

"Amy?"

His companion looked up from where she was concentrating very hard on eating her chocolate chip muffin. "Hm?" she hummed with a mouthful. He gulped.

"Have you been feeling off lately?"

Amy swallowed hard on the half-chewed piece and licked at the side of her mouth. "Nope; is anything wrong?" Her look was inquisitive.

"I have smelled it for days-"

"Smelled what?"

"Well… you see…" the Doctor fumbled for the most dignifying words to describe what he has smelled. "Ah, let me put this way: Have you been eating a lot lately?"

Amy tossed the muffin to the floor. She gave him a glare and said through gritted-teeth, "Are you calling me fat?"

"What?" The Doctor jumped back in surprise.

Amy stood up from the captain's chair and poked his chest. "Because if you've come to tell me that you think I'm getting fat, you've got another thing coming, Mister!"

The smell was even stronger since she stood and was close to him, making him almost dizy. He started to close his eyes and revel in that sweet, musky scent; like cinnamon, and something sweet like syrup, and clean fresh air, and rolling hills, and- no no no nonono!

"What I meant was that sometimes, when human bodies aren't having some basic needs met, they're channeled into other basic needs, such as eating. And lately I have smelled certain… ah, how do I say this, _scents_ coming from you and it's all quite distracting." This was a lot more difficult than he originally anticipated. Why couldn't he think something through first before jumping into a confrontation?

"So you're saying that I'm sexually frustrated." It was a statement. Oh, dear Rassilon. Another gulp.

"Basically, yeah."

They stared at one another. Suddenly she felt too close to him.

This was awkward.

Amy's shoulders relaxed and she took a step back. "You're probably right. I'll go take care of that then, yeah?"

The Doctor's eyes bulged.

"Oh, not with you, silly, calm down."

Something must have shown in his face because she then said, "Unless…"

She let the unspoken question dangle in the air for a few moments.

"Unless…?" the Doctor inquired, suddenly feeling very courageous. Or very stupid. Or both.

She took a step and a half closer to him, went up on her toes and whispered into his ear with her husky, Scottish accent, "You'd like to help me out."

"Ah, I, uh, you see, Time Lords and compan—uh…" How often did this happen? When he found himself stuttering over his own words with nothing real to say?

"You said it yourself, Doctor," she interrupted. His name sounded like a dirty word on her lips. "It's been distracting you." Her fingers fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Tell me in what ways."

He cleared his throat and took another step back. His TARDIS, his rules: The Doctor is always in charge. "Time Lords have a very keen sense of smell and when one smells pheromones, particularly human pheromones, it can be like… smelling your favorite food being cooked, or or or-"

"So it's irresistible?"

"No! What I meant was that… What I meant was…"

"It's irresistible and makes you think of naughty things, which are all very, _very_ distracting."

He hated it when she was right. His pause in the conversation was all the answer Amy Pond needed. Damn it, he was cleverer than this. If she didn't smell so good then he would have been able to think clearer and not have his hand up her shirt, fiddling with the clasp of her bra. Or not have his other hand digging into her red hair. Or not be placing open-mouth kisses on her neck. Or not bucking his hips against hers and relishing in that hypnotic moan.

Okay, Amy could win this round.


End file.
